


Express Mail

by Severina



Category: Young Riders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-09-04
Updated: 2001-09-04
Packaged: 2017-10-23 10:22:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/249242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He alone knows who I am. And we share something that I had never known could exist, at least not for me.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Express Mail

**Author's Note:**

> Posted for a sense of 'completeness' despite it's flaws. This was my first ever "slash" story, back in 2001, and had to be written in such a way that the narrator is not revealed. Everyone who read it at the time believed it was a Louise/Kid story. In fact, the narrator is Ike.

The sun hangs suspended on invisible wires in a sky bluer than the ripest berry on Emma’s vines. It is normally a welcoming comfort. There is nothing I like more than to turn my head towards that dazzling warmth. A sense of peacefulness always overwhelms me then… a confident knowledge that there is something stronger and better and greater than me in the universe. It reassures me that no matter my petty concerns or worries, I am not alone.

Today, the sun is my enemy. Its rays seem to flash like heat lightning on the prairie, engulfing me in pulsing fire. Waves of heat wash across the dusty soil, shimmering in the distance like ghouls. My horse’s hooves thunder as I approach, scattering the iridescent forms. But peripherally, I sense the slender fingers of phantom mist still reaching out for me, questing tendrils that seek the touch of flesh. I spur my mount further, faster, harder.

The stark beauty of the landscape should quicken my breath. Each delicate leaf on the sage brush distinctive from the next; each cactus needle a work of art shaped by a master architect. Rock formations placed just so, calling to my mind a praying maiden or a sleeping giant. But today the grandeur of the countryside is lost to my eyes. There is only an indistinguishable blur of browns and greens and grays on which to feast.

Dust rises from the ground in a noxious cloud, blanketing me, choking my spirit as easily as it chokes my lungs. I lean forward, urging my horse to greater speed. The mochila bounces against the sweat-soaked flank of my mount. What missive do I carry? What is so important that I journey alone, pushing through heat that pulsates with such energy? What is worth this torture?

________________________________________

The nightmare awakens me, as it has for so many nights since my childhood. For a long moment, I lay curled in the dark, learning to breathe again. Mouth open in a soundless scream, I force myself to open my eyes, to think, to function as the adult I have become.

The moon has long ago taken its place in the sky, a silver giant that seems to wink knowingly at me as I stare wide-eyed and unblinking into the night. I shudder involuntarily, shivering as I force my hands to release their white-knuckled hold on the flimsy blanket that barely covers me.

The nightmare is fading. The mental monsters that torment me return quite happily to their cages in my subconscious, well aware that they will be released to plague me again the next time I seek the comfort of sleep. They have done their duty this night, for I know slumber will evade me now.  
The memories are too near the surface.

I know that I was just a child, and I could not have prevented what happened. But in the aftermath of the bizarre and terrifying dreams that curse me, I search for ways to change the past. To alter the course of my destiny.

The bunkhouse in the distance beckons, but I ignore the summons. There is no succour for me there. Within it are good men with good intentions, yet they do not know my secret. They treat me fairly, but they fear my brusqueness and my strange manner. And I fear that if they get to know me, they will discover that I am not what I seem.

Perhaps, if I were home in Sweetwater, I would turn to my bunkmates for solace, though only one of them knows the truth of who I am. Perhaps I would look to the homestead, hoping to see Emma’s light still shining from the parlour window. Perhaps I would walk with tentative steps to her door, knowing that she would offer a shoulder to lean on and expect nothing in return.

Perhaps.

For now, I can only pillow my head in my hands and try to find a semblance of comfort in the dry desert soil that makes up by bed. The irritation of each pebble digging into my skin is magnified a hundred-fold. The evening breeze seems to whisper dark and malicious secrets. I fix my eyes on the stars, beacons of splendour in an endless sea of murky gloom.

Perhaps if I concentrate long enough, I will be able to see the face of my love etched in silver amongst the stars. Perhaps I will feel the brush of his lips on my face, the strong and assured touch of his arms around my waist. Perhaps the fear and loneliness will diminish, if only for an instant.

Perhaps.

________________________________________

It is the same sun that yesterday scorched my flesh. The same sun that seared the air from my lungs, leaving me breathless and weak with exhaustion. The same sun that drew the moisture from my body in a concerted rush.

Yet today the malice is replaced with benevolence, the ferocity replaced with serenity. Gentle beams of light dance across my cheeks as I smile into it's face, squinting against its almost overpowering luminance. Waves of heat glisten in the distance like fairies. They scatter when I reach them, their arms stretched forth in a joyful dance just out of my reach.

The windmill is within sight now, and a warmth not from the sun spreads through my limbs.

I am home.

The other riders are scattered throughout the yard, each greeting me as I ride into the station. Contentment fills me at the affection in their words, but there is only one rider I seek.

He smiles.

Outwardly, I remain composed. A flicker in my eyes that lets him know that I am happy to see him, but nothing more. The mask must stay firmly in place. The risk of discovery is too great were I to reveal any more. A glance, a smile… that is all I have to offer on my return.

He alone knows who I am. And we share something that I had never known could exist, at least not for me. He rouses a part of me that I thought had died long ago. No, not died, for that would imply compliance on my part, at least a little. No, it was a part of me that had been ripped away by cruelty and abuse and the merciless hand of fate.

Trust was difficult to find again. Trust in myself, and trust in another. He’s been patient. He understands my hesitation. And despite his assurances that Teaspoon and Emma would be supportive, I know that inside, he fears that my doubts are all too valid.

________________________________________

We meet in the barn at first light. The household is still cradled in the land of dreams as he takes me into his arms. His fingertips brush across my body, igniting a fire of sparks every place they touch. I nestle into his warmth, the specters that haunt my sleep and the worries that plague my days disappearing in the soothing tenderness that I find in his embrace.

We share shadow kisses as the orange glow of the sun melts on the horizon. Such a glorious creation, the sun. I rest my head on his chest, smiling. I know peace. I remember love. And I am no longer alone.


End file.
